The Bond
by CircleSky
Summary: Literati smut. Takes place sometime after the series ended. Mature content. Inspired by "Until It Sleeps" by Meredith-Grey.
1. Prologue

Contains adult themes with role-play. Although everything I've depicted in this story is consensual (and I've reiterated the consensual nature of the action throughout the story), some readers may decide that this story also contains themes of violence. I don't consider it real violence though, since I have taken great lengths to describe it as role-play framed in a loving, trusting, mutually-respectful relationship.

Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16.

If you are under this age or if this sort of material offends you, please don't read it.

I don't own the characters.

Inspired by _Until It Sleeps_ by Meredith-Grey. Thanks for the idea Meredith-Grey!

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**Prologue**

Blissful winds ruffled the curtains in the kitchen. Jess inhaled the fresh scent of spring as he stepped into the room, seeking a light lunch. He was just putting the finishing touches on a sandwich when Rory stepped up beside him. She placed a coiled object on the counter alongside the sandwich's accoutrements.

Jess smiled an open-mouthed, knowing grin, observing the object, and his pulse immediately kicked up a notch.

"You or me?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at her. She was grinning that sweet smile of hers, with a hint of devilment.

"Me."

"Like last time?"

"Yes. You remember the word?"

"Hemingway," he grumbled, with a good-natured smirk.

Rory just shrugged and smiled sweetly. "It's a turn-off. It makes perfect sense."

Jess chuckled and shook his head. "When?"

"Come find me."

"I'll always find you," he threatened casually. Not that he was complaining.

Rory let out a little giggle as she shrugged and bounced, before scampering out of the room.


	2. 2

With his knees about a foot and a half apart, Jess kneeled, cocked his head to the side and set about his task. He wordlessly drew a loop of nylon rope through the underside of the bundle that he'd just wrapped, snug enough to not come undone, though not too tight. He tied a double-knot in the smooth rope with a solid tug and a glance.

He watched Rory as he lifted the rope up and away from himself, drawing its contents over her head. And she watched him back. She watched his every move, the overall gestures of his body, the details of his musculature. He knew her favourite parts of his body. He saw the way her eyes trailed over them—but always returned to his eyes. She bit her lip, as though shy and wondering and frightened, part of the game, and he liked that very much.

Jess leaned forward and slowly ran the rope several times over a knob atop a brass spoke. Then he fastened it securely, as though tethering a boat to a dock. As he'd leaned forward, lifting his buttocks off his heels, he'd been very much aware of her gaze trailing downward. As he'd drawn nearer to her, he'd felt her hot breath upon him.

Then he leaned back, surveyed his handiwork and smirked.

Rory's arm was draped gracefully alongside her temple with a delicate bend at her elbow. Its light, un-tanned skin contrasted strikingly against the brunette tumbles and swirls of hair that she'd curled for him. Jess gathered a lock and guided its curl into a perfect loose spiral to lay it across the cream-coloured pillowcase, also a very nice contrast. Then he selected another lock, which ran close by her light pink cheek and he wound it into its own spiral. He laid the tips of that strand so that they curled into the divot of her neck, just above her collarbone. Beautiful.

Her other arm was cast across her temple, slightly across her forehead, and its wrist met its mate just off to the left side of her head. Her face was turned demurely in cautious trepidation, a perfect act. Her eyes were wide, stunning, and they looked up at him through a fringe of black eyelashes.

Sometimes they talked. Sometimes they told stories that spurred themselves on, whether they be verbal temptations of what could soon come to pass, graphic play-by-plays already in progress, or lurid depictions of what sounded so right in the moment but which would never do in the sobering of real life. Sometimes they assumed characters, an activity which Rory liked the best, since they were quite honestly experts at adapting character studies to suit their needs. Sometimes Jess submitted fully, since he loved it when Rory, normally so sweet and seemingly innocent, drew upon all her many talents to conquer him. But this was good too.

Today, Rory was simply his.

The truth was, whatever Rory she was, he liked it. And he really couldn't get enough.

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**Please review!** What is the one word you would use to describe this story?


	3. 3

"What are you going to do t…" she said, cutting herself off with a catch in her throat. She delivered the line perfectly. He smirked and raised an eyebrow. There was a clear implication which hung in the air. _To me_, she had meant to add. _With me_ could have also worked in certain respects. But she had chosen wisely, since _with me_ could also have another interpretation—and any other interpretation would not have been appropriate today. _For me_, of course, had the exact opposite connotation and they both knew that she would be better off saving that phrase for some other occasion.

But to get back to her question… His pulse quickened at the possibilities.

Then, with the hair along the left side of her head having already been arranged perfectly, he collected the hair that fell upon her right shoulder and held its length horizontally between two hands. He draped the bundle against her reddened lips. With eyes impossibly wide, she dutifully opened her mouth so he could place the strands lightly between her teeth. The tips curled from the opposite side of her mouth. With a twinkle in his eye mirroring hers, and which was barely masked by his gruff demeanour, he lifted an index finger to his lips.

"Shushhh…" he whispered, barely audible.

But she heard.

"You'll know soon enough."

Jess held the fingers of his right hand in a posture reminiscent of claws and ran his fingernails along her skin, from the swell of flesh that began at her armpit to the underside of her breast and then towards the peak. He thought then, wished perhaps, that, in light of this activity, he'd had some other livelihood which would've roughened up his hands. He thought the game would have been better served if he'd possessed the calloused fingers of a man who worked in the trades, not the soft fingertips of a writer. But at the quickening tempo of her breath, he decided his fingers must be good enough.

Jess arranged his body so that he was kneeling closer alongside her and holding his torso over hers. He leaned forward until he had taken the underside of her breast between his lips. With a mouth that nipped roughly at her, he trailed his kisses to her nipple. Once there, the pinches of his lips became more continuous and unbroken and wetter as his mouth closed around her wholly and he brought his tongue and teeth into play. She shuddered favourably then and, to be perfectly honest, he wasn't sure if that had been part of her game or not.

As he kneeled alongside her and leaned above her, he had only one free hand, and this he used to grip the side of her waist. He knew she liked to be held in place, manipulated this way, especially during this game. He lifted her body towards his mouth as his kisses migrated along her ribcage, then her stomach, to momentarily settle just to the inside of her hipbone.

Fiery thoughts assailed him. Thoughts of silkiness, softness, wetness… Thoughts of moans and gyrations. Pressing his forehead against her hip, Jess moaned himself. She gasped. And he hadn't even done anything yet.

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**Please review!** What is the one word that you would use to describe this story?


	4. 4

Rory twisted away from him as much as she could, protecting herself. "No," she murmured through her hair, but she didn't use the safe word. Jess looked at her out of the corner of his eye. He saw on her face that, by her choice, he was still her captor—not merely Jess, the man who loved her. With care, he took notice that her hands did not look discoloured. He placed a firm hand on her hipbone and rolled her once more onto her back.

He slid that hand down along Rory's thigh and pressed just above her knee. He placed his other forearm against her stomach, keeping as much of his weight on his own knees as possible, and with this hand he drew apart the strands of her hair. Again came the thoughts, the salivation, the race of his pulse. Pink… and succulent… and wet…

Jess groaned with honest desire.

She murmured again and lifted her knee, which he pushed back down.

And then he pressed his tongue to her, letting her feel his warmth.

Jess liked that first motion, letting him know it was cool to go down—that first motion where she gyrated with her hips and pressed into his ministrations. He loved the moaning and grinding and going wild on his face as he licked and suckled. He loved when her body rollicked and shuddered and became putty in his hands. Jess loved knowing he was the cause. He revelled in Rory being excited because of him.

That was why he really preferred more equal roles. Today, Rory writhed with slightly different motions, murmured different sounds.

But, of course, this was Rory. And if she liked it like this once in a while, well, there was no way he'd deny her. She said he played the game so well. She'd said something about the smouldering of his eyes, the expressiveness of his lips, the firmness of his hand. She'd said something about her town thinking such a good girl should always be protected from the likes of him. (She'd said that with irony and he hadn't been offended.) And she'd described all of it with such desire in her eyes. There was no way he'd deny her.

Of course he got a lot out of this as well. She was, after all, like putty in his hands.

Today, he didn't wait for that first motion.

He flicked his tongue boldly. It graced laterally across her, back then forth. She bucked and it was almost as good as a grind. He held her tight and continued with his tongue bath, until the sounds she was making became more familiar and more favourable. Since she was his, he dared release his grip to instead prop her up. His heart—no his entire chest—was pounding, as his blissful tongue manipulated the darling bud and he heard her laboured breathing and beautiful chirps. He felt the heat of his own rapid breath swirl against her and the thoughts continued. A silken texture, plump and juicy…

He had to admit, he was enjoying himself. Rather, enjoying her.

And then he nestled deeper and it was all he'd hoped it would be. She pressed herself to him, in that most exquisite of gestures. He continued his manipulations with a temperate finger as her skin caressed his tongue—and caressed him—into a state of glory. Silky indeed… and oh so succulent.

With a head foggy with desire and satisfaction, he drew his tongue away and focussed his lips once more. He slid his palm along the inner curve of her thigh and prepared for a new course.

"Mmmm," he murmured against the nub, as his finger met a satiny purse. And then he used his tongue again until she submitted fully, to him, and to herself. He loved to do that for her, thinking again how amazing it was that he could. He moaned along with her, a harmony some octaves apart, as at first her body stretched taut but then ebbed in concert with the pulse of his lingering tongue.

Jess took a deep, shuddering breath. With a gaze at her face, to make sure she was still with him, he pushed off against the bed and raised his torso tall and straight over his knees, his buttocks off of his heels. He was glad to see the desire he felt mirrored on her own face. He had been throbbing for quite some time now.

He wouldn't keep her long, seeing as how she was tied.

He fixed her with his most menacing gaze of lust. He spread his knees further apart and arched his back to bring himself closer to her. With three fingers at the base of the shaft, he tapped her stomach twice. His skin hit hers authoritatively, yielding a splendid patting-sound of supple yet solid.

"A man has needs."

Her eyes opened wide.

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**Please Review! Please! Pretty please!**

What is the one word that you would use to describe this story?


	5. 5

Jess backed away from her and put a foot onto the floor. His eyes trailed along the length of her delicate body, to all the graceful curves that he knew and loved and desired.

He slid his hand underneath her at her waist, then down beneath her buttock. With that one hand, he kneaded and lifted and felt the cool, silky smoothness of her flesh. And all of this he did gently, to give his captive a sense of how much she was revered. To calm her. To quieten her.

She was revered indeed. In the unflustered light of real life, it was her sharp mind and quirky spirit and good heart that he revered. For the moment, however, he pretended that it was simply her body—or rather, more specifically, what her body could do for him—that he appreciated. Today, in this activity alone, he hoped his reverence came across as sick and twisted—to revere someone whilst holding her captive. As though she should be happy and proud to make the ultimate sacrifice. The sacrificial lamb was sacred, and necessary for a good harvest.

She was trembling. In anticipation, he knew, though she feigned fright.

She protested meekly. He raised an eyebrow at her but he saw only desire.

"Do you have something to say to me?" he challenged abstractly, just to be sure. She played the game well also. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, as though willing to submit as long as he didn't hurt her. She played the game too well sometimes.

But she wanted him. He knew that she did. And he knew this without delusion. Jess smirked.

So he ran his palm over her, in long ovals, stroking her soft skin lightly, to calm her. He took his time. Her skin was pale, save some freckles on her arms and legs. He supposed that, given enough sunlight, her stomach would have been freckled as well. But, as of now, the skin on her beautiful stomach had a soft, light sheen of untouched, virginal splendour.

He leaned forward to drop some kisses onto her stomach and ribcage. With his fingertips, he drew some marks upon that velvety skin, with enough vigour to know where his fingers had been, to know he had touched her and to make it real, but not enough to last beyond their encounter. With a final soulful kiss upon her breast, his hand came to rest on the roundness of her buttock. He stood.

She was stretched out before him. She had a beauty that he felt like an ache and that left him light-headed. Her soft, creamy skin with the light scratches he'd left… her delicate, luscious pink…

Sacred, and instrumental to a good harvest.

His gaze trailed from the soft oval of her elongated stomach, along to the gentle rise of her breast and perky nipple and finally the elegant lines of her neck. The lone curl of hair still swirled into the divot above her collarbone, although the lock he'd placed along the pillow had long since fallen down around her shoulder.

From her shoulder, his gaze traveled up the bend of her arm—and caught the look in her eyes.

It was a sight to behold, that doe-eyed expression, of which she was a master. Jess's breath quickened once again, until he was gasping at the sight of her. She could do this to him like no other.

The aching…

His jaw grew lax as he nearly panted. As did she.

Abruptly and with great force of desire, he pulled her bottom towards the side edge of the bed. She slid easily, no match for the element of surprise. And as she murmured and writhed a beautiful snake-like slither in response, he grabbed for her ankle.

Jess wasn't exactly a religious man, but today…

He was going to immerse himself in all things sacred.

And he did.

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If there was one adjective that you'd use to describe this story, what would it be? Seriously, I'd love to know! I really have no idea how people are taking this story and that makes me unsure how to continue.

Please review, even if your review consists of just one single adjective. A single word is better than none at all! Anonymous reviews are appreciated too!


	6. 6

"…Ohhhh… God…"

He lost himself for a moment as her spell came over him. That exquisite moment, divine and sacred and intimate. She was the good girl—oh yes—but not only for the reasons the townies gave. Jess knew all the reasons she was good. All of them. He knew those reasons the townies would approve of and those that they would never—and should never—know.

Him. Jess. He knew.

Lucky bastard.

He smiled dazedly as he gazed upon her. He'd felt every inch of his surrender as he slipped, mentally and physically, deeper under her spell. His body had zinged and sweetly stuttered and given itself up for the moment. And now he gazed and savoured and marvelled and gasped for air.

It wasn't just about the silky squeeze.

It wasn't just about the heat of her body.

It wasn't just about the visual experience. To disappear.

It was also about the look on her face. And with her look of consummation (which, at the game's bidding, she'd quickly masked but he'd caught none-the-less) she looked amazing.

"So nice," he mumbled, taking a long moment to study her then dropping his head back to slowly shake it at the heavens. With his eyes lightly closed, he saw nothing visually, and yet, he saw everything. He knew all of the reasons she was good. He knew the delicate folds which he never tired of exploring, and so he slowly set to the task. They were ever-changing in fact, as she tilted her pelvis this way and that, wringing, kneading, gripping, tugging. Accepting, welcoming. She might think he was the agent in acts such as these—and the game would suggest he was—but he was the recipient. He was the matter to be kneaded, tugged, gloriously wrung.

He proceeded smoothly, with long, deliberate swaths of exploration. Every twist and turn carefully considered and rewarded with a lick of fine silk against one, then another, side of his head. The path was ever-changing and, of course, that meant every beautiful, silken inch of slithering ambience must, perpetually, be explored again.

And when he brought his slackened jaw down again, his eyes opened and his gaze fell upon her body. He splayed his fingers against the soft white skin of her stomach and pressed them in. With a well-placed thumb, he fondled until she tightened and the onslaught of ambience intensified. In concert with her great gasp of air, her head lolled back against the pillow. Jess bit his lip.

He watched her lustful graciousness as she collected and consumed him. Then, with a flare of his nostrils and a sudden rush forward, he took back the control and became the agent once more. He moved solidly and sporadically and enjoyed every thrust. He relished the waves of motion rippling through her body as she took him—the jiggle of her breasts, the flutter of her eyelids, the tremble of her upon him.

Her hair was not much of a sound suppressor. It was never meant to be. Jess chanced to hear a moan rumble through her. He looked up at her face through heavy-lidded eyes, to reveal to him a stirring sight of her submission. Her eyes were closed. The pillow was starting to fold over her head. He ground into her, changing the angle, and tasted the front of her neck. His lips felt her next moan through the vibration of her voice box.

And when she recovered, her eyes focussed on him once more, begging him for mercy and fiery release.

His slackened jaw hardened and jutted in an expression of fierce passion. Her beautiful stare, the rise and fall of her chest as she heaved great breaths… it was all he needed. A fervour grew. Jess ran his fingers down her cheek to pull the hair from her mouth and release her from her restraint of silence. He wanted to hear her now. He placed his hands at her hips.

And gave her all the mercy he could.

He wanted to hear her. With cries of his own, he thrust her against the pillow and she complied beautifully. The sound pulled him, pulled from within him, like a siphon.

Vigorous blood coursed through his veins, pumped by a throbbing heart that was joyfully swollen with emotion and selflessly working overtime. Jess ignored the cramp of his muscles, the rush of sweat to his brow and the chafing of his thigh against the bedspread. His hands were slipping so he gripped her tighter. And she responded tightly as well. So tightly. It was too much. He cried out. Vitality shuddered through him, was pulled over the ledge like a siphon, and he lost himself in her spell all over again.

Everything for her. The sacrifice had been made. He _was_ the good harvest, as she reaped, and reaped, what he sowed.

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To be continued. Please, pretty please, review! What is the one word you would use to describe this story?


	7. 7

_Sorry for the delay in updating this story. I had several false starts and much self-inflicted discouragement in writing it. But I think I may be satisfied with this chapter now. This story was intended to be read from start to finish so, given the length of time that has passed since I posted the first chapters, I hope that you will consider reading it over from the beginning. It's not that long._

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She'd pulled him over the edge, as though tugging hand-over-hand on a rope which tethered him as well as her, and, of its own accord, his body had responded naturally, lustfully, with no other possible course of action. She'd tugged him over the edge, urging his freefall towards that place where she'd gone before him and awaited his arrival. There, he'd joined her in that dazed, contented, rosy state of completion.

After a while, Jess slowly came to realize just how tightly his hands squeezed her hipbones. And after a moment more, he became capable of relaxing them. Placing his wrists astride her hips, he released his grip and leaned forward upon his knuckles. He stood aside the bed with his head bowed, utterly and magnificently used up. With every gasp, his head drooped further towards his chest. They still throbbed together. Intimate. Each one's delicate, occasional pulses affected the other, in an exquisitely intimate give and take.

"Ohhhh…" Rory moaned and he felt the rumblings of that sentiment through her body, and its echoes through his own. The sound of her voice was inside him. It ran wild though his veins, straight to his fluttering heart. The sound of her voice—that lusty rumble of gratification—playfully, tenderly, twisted his innards, as Rory's brilliant mind often did. That voice tickled his fancy. And he loved that with every fibre of his being.

In time, Jess caught his breath. He switched his weight from one foot to the other and raised his head to see her eyelids flutter open. Rory was flushed pink and she looked deliciously ravaged. So beautiful. So unwittingly seductive and charming and beautiful. Satisfaction beamed from his slack-jawed grin, until he remembered the game and the grin became a smirk. He lowered his eyebrows, darkening his eyes, specifically for her benefit.

"I've made you mine," he said, issuing the words as a severe, subjugating warning, to keep in character with the game they still played.

He took great pleasure in the quavering response of her body.

He gestured to the marks still somewhat apparent on her stomach, running his soft, writer's fingertips decisively along her skin. His gaze and fingers paused to caress the thumbprint he'd left where he'd tightly gripped her hipbone only moments before. He spoke slowly, drawing out his speech to accentuate his threats. "Now, _I know_… you won't run." He looked up at her face. "You're a smart girl. I can tell. So I know you've figured out the truth by now: there's nowhere to run to. I'll always find you and keep you." He looked deeply into her impossibly blue eyes, losing himself in them. From there, it was difficult to maintain the commanding tone of his voice, but he made a valiant effort. He pressed against her with as much menace as his loving contentment could allow."I've made you mine… and I _will_ keep you."

She squeezed—an intimate throb—and the breath caught in his throat as his stomach performed a perfect swan dive.

"Oohhhh…" Rory growled, her eyelids low and all her flesh flushed with beautiful colour. Then, to Jess's amusement and intense satisfaction, he bore witness to the moment that she remembered her character in this game they played. He saw her train of thought switch tracks, as the entire story of her sudden recollection played out upon her face. How glorious it was to make her forget herself!

She abruptly corrected her facial expression—as did he, once again.

Her eyes grew wide, solemn and submissive as she nodded. "I— I p— promise… I won't run," she played, as though thoroughly conquered.

"Good," he spoke confidently. "I assure you: if you did, the consequences would be severe."

"Yes… Sir," she whispered tentatively, barely audible.

"Don't call me that," he growled in distaste. He lightly squeezed her hipbones again, for effect.

"Sorry! I— Uh— What should I call you? M— Master?"

Jess smirked. _No way in hell_, he thought. Instead, he barked darkly, "Call me Jess. My name is Jess."

"OK. I promise. I won't run… Jess."

Satisfied with her oath, Jess nodded as well and, with a stutter-breath, he slid regrettably from her—as all good things must come to an end—though he remained standing in the cradle of her thighs. With an affected smugness tugging upon his lips, He set about removing the rope. It came off of the post first so that she could bring her arms down while he untied the knot at her wrists.

As the nylon rope was unwound and her skin was revealed, he cupped a wrist in each of his hands and, while biting his lip, he ran soothing circles across each with his thumbs. He slid his fingers into her palms then off of her fingertips. Her hands dropped lightly onto her stomach.

Remembering the divine and sacred and intimate, he ran a hand beneath her buttock as it overhung the edge of the bed and, using that hand, he lifted her thigh. Gripping her ankle once more, he brought her leg over his head and onto the bed, allowing her to scoot across it slightly.

Jess crawled over her, the unsteady, swaying crawl of a man whose knees were still rubbery. He paused astride her to momentarily bury a kiss between her neck and the sweet smelling curls nestled next to it and then collapsed upon his side of the bed. She watched him avidly as he did so.

She watched so avidly, in fact, that he began to feel shy and a little bit ridiculous. Of course, to a certain extent, he always felt that way when he took such singular control in their play. Exposed.

"The hair was a nice touch," she said finally, and her words released him from his state of self-consciousness. As his temple hit the pillow, the last vestiges of the characters they'd assumed cracked away, revealing the two satisfied smiles they'd—with varying levels of success—attempted to keep hidden.

"Oh yeah?"

"I liked it." She drew her gaze from his and gathered a section of her brunette curls. A sweetly sublime smile took hold of her lips. She examined the hank closely, fingering it, stroking it, as though deep in wistful visions. He wished she could see herself as he saw her but, for the time being, he simply enjoyed the vision that was his own.

"I'll keep that in mind."

Rory caught his gaze again and abruptly dropped the hank of hair. She rolled closer and kissed him. Her tongue was silky. Almost as silky as she was.

"Man, I could do that again," she said, against the corner of his mouth.

"Kiss me again?" he murmured, amused, and ran his fingers along the length of her spine. She raised an eyebrow suggestively but it was unnecessary. He had never confused her meaning. And he had no doubt there would be adventures to come. His appetite for her, in all ways and all manners, was boundless. Jess could never be sated very long for that which they created together. Still, his tastes for their next encounter ran towards a different flavour. "You're in control next time. I'll give you the keys."

"I'll _take_ the keys," she replied pointedly. "And you'll have no say in the matter."

"I like what I'm hearing," he purred.

Grinning, she rolled away from him again, onto her back, but she wasn't getting away that easily. Jess ran a hand over her breast to her waist and slid her tighter against him. Her flesh was cool to the touch and so wonderful against his heated body.

Idly she rubbed her wrist, seemingly deep in thought. The movement caught his eye. He gently dug his fingers under hers and felt her wrist. "Too tight?"

"Just right, actually. I was just remembering the feel." She giggled slightly. Then the amused query, which followed, caught him off-guard. "What would you do to me if I ran?"

He smirked. "You wouldn't like it." He shook his head and adjusted the bedspread.

Her eyes were twinkling with humour as she asked again, more insistently, "What _would you_ _do_?"

He spoke with the righteous assuredness of a man who, given displeasing circumstances, knew of no other appropriate course of action. His expression was painted with playful harshness, as were his words, "I would withhold sexual favours. All of this… Gone."

Surprise and mock pain alighted upon her face, freezing there in perfect comedic timing. "Hemingway!" she cried, uttering the safe word and letting him know that such a fate would, indeed, be going too far. "Hemingway!"

Then she joined him in laughter as he tugged her closer still.

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_Does anybody else out there think that Milo did wonders for the name Jess? I will admit that, when they first introduced his character to the show, and I found out his name was Jess, my first thought was, "Ew, that's a girl's name. The writers are trying to be cute with names again." But, as his character developed, I found he made that name so virile, so masculine. I love it now. So now there are two separate names in my mind, the feminine short form of Jessica and the masculine Jess, as portrayed by Milo. Jessie or Jesse will never do. He is always Jess, magnificently so. Beautiful in sound and in spelling. Unadorned with a second useless, frilly syllable. So anyway, when I wrote that part about Rory asking, "What should I call you?" Jess's response really spoke to me._

_I hope you will take the time to send me a review, or to say hello, or to agree or disagree on the virility of the name Jess, or to say anything that you'd like to say. With this story being read so avidly, but so silently, I am Jess: I feel shy, a little bit ridiculous and exposed. Please tell me what you think, as Rory told him, and release me from my state of self-consciousness! Anonymous reviews or private messages are welcome._

_A further note to any young, impressionable readers who have read this story even though it is labelled Mature: There is a difference between the consensual role-play which I have depicted here and non-consensual assault (rape). Women do not fantasize about rape. Rape is a horrible crime. Unlike rape, in consensual role-play, the rules and limits are arranged by both partners beforehand; there is mutual trust between partners and an explicit agreement as to when the playing will stop, such as with the use of safe words. I feel compelled to mention that, in case my story has been misinterpreted._

_Anyway, please review!  
_


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